The Lightning Strike
by WebsofEris
Summary: Loki, Prince-Regent of Jötunheimr knew that he should have killed Thor, the golden prince of Ásgarðr, a long time ago. Now the golden prince has come to claim his lands. No one, not even Thor - his childhood friend, the light to his darkness, his other half, was going to take his lands from him, Loki swore. He would sooner see the nine realms burn.
1. Chapter 1

**Year 929**

The land of Jötunheimr was always cold. The air never got as warm as the summers of Álfheimr or the golden shores of Ásgarðr. The grass was rarely green and the sun would shine reflecting the light of the ice frozen upon the waters for ten months out of the year. Jötunheimr seemed to be bathed in blue light, the trees sprinkled with snow, the animals that made the land their home arrayed with fluffy white coats.

It was a small land and only the hardiest of people could remain there. Surrounded by mountains that reached up to the skies, dwellings and settlements were carved upon the flat surfaces of little vegetation and flowing downward streams. The people were tall and stocky, called the Jötnar, and the nobles forged together their palaces at the tops of the mountains, decked in diamonds and shining glass, made with dark marble wood to keep the warmth from the fires inside their homes. The land gave them little but trade was plentiful within the nine realms and the citizens, even the poorest of subjects, lacked for nothing.

It really was a travesty to see so many red cloaks against the blue snows of his land, Loki found himself thinking.

The glare from the torch left a shadow around the prince regent's pale skin as he gazed out upon the army outside his palace from a narrow window at the topmost torrent. The passage was narrow and known only to a few, the perfect sentry for those wishing to stay hidden from invaders eyes. It was seldom used, the Jötnar had little that the other eight realms carved out on the continent of Yggdrasill needed. Armies would have to march weeks to get up far enough to surround the palace of the royals and few had ever dared. What was there that anyone from Miðgarðr, from Vanaheimr, or from Álfheimr to want? The fish from the Jötnar's down flowing streams? There was fish aplenty in their realm's oceans and lakes. The fruits from the trees that grew on their mountains, acidic, tart, and unpleasant to the tastes of their people? Perhaps the warm coats of their wolves and foxes that none of their warriors knew how to properly hunt.

No there was little that any army would want from this land. It was precious only to its inhabitants, they that were bonded to the deeply grown roots of its trees inside the mountain rocks for generations. Few came here for marriage alliances; fewer to make their homes in a more forgiving land.

The Æsir, those twice-damned war-mongers, were not here to strip the mountains dry of their resources. They weren't here from some long-standing rivalry, one that reached back hundreds of years, handed down from descendant to descendant. There was no blood feud, no religious motivation, and no land to conquer to the north and thus it would be needed to march across the mountains. They were tainting his snows and his mountains with their bright red cloaks for one reason and one reason only: Thor.

Nor for the first time or the last, Loki thought, glaring down at Thor's tent, conspicuous in all the glory of the royal house of Bor, did he wish that he had frozen that oaf in a block of ice whilst still in the cradle.

The fires in the torch's flickered, once, twice, and out as the prince regent's anger built up inside him. The narrow hall was plunged into darkness -cloaking him - only the green of his eyes remaining to bring a spot of color to his hide-away.

* * *

"I say we should open the gates," Thyrm, Jarl of Värmaland, the wealthiest duchy of the five mountain-peaks and surrounding flat-lands and fjords of Jötunheimr, boomed over the cacophony of voices chiming their opinions within the throne room. Helblindi groaned, resisting the urge to rub at his forehead because of the infernal headache these Lords and Ladies were giving him.

A dark, icy laugh followed that suggestion from Skadi, Countess of Þrymheimr, a lady renowned for her great skill in bow hunting and hatred of the Æsir that lived in the lands south of them.

"Open the gates? Surrender? To those grave robbers from the south? They who would seek to change our ways, our homes - these lands our ancestors carved out for us? Those berserkers, who know nothing of peace or of scholarly pursuits? How many lands have they razed in their quest for power? Ten? Twenty? How many have they subdued under their yoke?"

Lopt, the Jarl of Útgarða, nodded his agreement, "The Allfather, hah! What a pretentious name, that arrogant son of the house of Bor, those upstart usurpers from what was once a small kingdom; they gained their large realm from swallowing others in their quest for war. They have made warriors of those sons, have forced their ways upon their victims, have hallowed out their customs and ground them into dust. All that and they have yet to gain their true prize – Vanaheimr. To open our gates to Thor is to open our gates to the death of our people."

Býleistr spoke from the right of Helblindi, the youngest of the three brothers from the royal house of Nal, "Loki shall never surrender or open our gates to the Æsir. Nor shall he give Thor welcome. His enmity runs deep – he is too well-versed in the treachery of Odin. He most among us has cause to revile our invaders. Do not forget Thyrm, all of you nobles here have _sworn_ your allegiance to him. The stain of breaking your blood oath would remain with your descendants till the Ragnarok comes."

"Is it treason to speak as one concerned for this land," Thyrm asked.

"It shall be if you give any aid to the invaders camped outside," Angrboða, Countess of Iárnvidia, remarked calmly. The smile on her lovely face belayed the fact that she would gain no more pleasure from the world than seeing Thyrm's head upon a spike for treason. Thyrm's younger sister, Járnsaxa, snarled at the witch-countess of the Iron-Hills.

"Are you really the best one to make such a decision witch? You are perhaps a bit…_biased,_" the tall, dark-haired woman hissed.

Skadi growled, "Perhaps so is Loki! As we all should be. The golden prince might claim that he comes in peace but peace shall not be gained by the cold corpses of our sons – rotting on some southern land somewhere. And our daughters? Their birthrights stolen! All of you women here shall lose all that you have gained and inherited. I shall not stand to be made some slave of a man."

The sound of the nobles voices blurred together as the headache behind Helblindi's eyes grew with a vengeance. He wondered what ancestor he had offended to cause him to deal with such misfortune as to preside over the meeting of each of the Jarls and countesses of the four duchies in Jötunheimr, from each of the five mountains and the surrounding lands that made up their realm. They and all of their wives, husbands, adult children, brothers and sisters trapped within the halls of the royal palace like carrion to be picked away by the bows of the invaders encamped outside their gates.

Thor had been clever to bring his army here during Samhain, a ritual passed down from their ancestors after they had first migrated to these mountains from the land Tuatha Dé Danann across the sea. That land had been lost to the memory of the Jötnar but some relics, some rituals, remained. Samhain, the night that rituals and fires for the veneration of their ancestors were performed; that annual time of the year when all the nobles in the land came together to call upon the spirits to bless their people for the next year.

The royal house of Nal had been besieged by the trying presence of every noble house going on two weeks now. Small wonder Helblindi's eldest brother, the one who should be sitting on this throne and nursing this headache, had locked himself away to brood.

"…and where is Loki now? Up there, where he has been for a fortnight! Instead of coming up with some cunning plan, a consensus with all of us, to get rid of our invaders, he plots in silence. He stares at our invaders day in and day out and does nothing. For all your posturing Skadi what will you do when the golden prince gets tired of waiting? When he storms our gates by force? I doubt the strength of our prince's magic will be enough to hold back the full might of The Æsir."

The nobles all fell silent at Thyrm's warning. Even Skadi gave pause, a frown forming to fit the cold lines of her face. An army of 500,000 strong against the poorly trained soldiers of each of their four duchies and the royal guard, amidst a population of scholars and Seiðrmasters.

"May the Valkyries of Valhalla abandon them, should Thor seek to storm our gates by force," the prince's voice rang out as he walked into the throne room, seating himself down next to his brothers. Every noble looked uneasily at one another, wondering how much their sly prince had heard from the shadows.

Loki smiled darkly, "The Einherjar, I believe, do not allow oath-breakers within their ranks."

** Author's Note:

So...not entirely sure where this is going. I'm currently at school so if this is updated it will be sproadic and this is only the first chapter. I have had plans and ideas and plotlines in my head for this for a while but only now starting writing it. It has some elements of the Trojan War interspersed with Arthurian mythos incorporated into the plotline of my head.

Its not been betaed, so any and all mistakes, I'm sure there are some, are mine. I shall probably go back through each chapter when they are written and try to correct mistakes when I have the time. The title and the summary need some work, they might be changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Year 906**

Loki frowned as his skin continued to itch underneath the elaborate fur coat that his stepmother, Farbauti, had given to him before he had left the palace to travel to the land southwest of their mountains. He had never before been there but he'd heard many tales about the land of the Æsir – savage, brutal, a land of children's nightmares. He shivered a little despite the warmth of the sun shining down on him as he and his escorts rode through the forest towards their destination.

The trees casts shadows overheard of him; great canopies of leaves the likes of which Loki had never seen in his homeland. Everything was green as far as the eye could see, blinding his eyes with colors that he was unaccustomed too. The flowers he could see through the window as they rode on through the forest, horses gaining speed, carrying their carriage onward, were vastly arrayed; blues and pinks and yellows. This land was so beautiful, how could it be the land of baby-eaters and wife-stealers that he'd heard so many cautions against?

"Are you worried child," his nursemaid, Gerd, asked him whilst she brushing away some stray droplets of sweat that were pooling up at his temples. He was only six years old, so Gerd would accompany him everywhere until he came of age under Jötun laws. She was pretty, he supposed, being gifted with the long, dark hair and flawlessly pale skin so valued amongst their mountain peoples. Would the women of the land he was travelling to appear as she did? Would their prince have to be accompanied by a nursemaid everywhere? Their noble children?

Loki bit his lip, frowning as he gazed upon the slivers of light that hit the forest floor as the leaves above them began to get thicker. "I did wonder if father and mother were planning to sell me off to the baby-eaters. I know I am no baby, my meat would probably be too tough for baby-eaters to chew but there is Helblindi, and now Býleistr. Perhaps mother would prefer for one of them to be Grandmother's favorite – is that it? Eisa told me not to be scared, she heard Aunt Glut and mother saying that their Queen asked for me specifically. What if their Queen meant specific meal?"

Vili, the head of their Æsir escort had not seemed like a savage. He had bowed to Loki as the young child had gotten off the long-ship that had helped them cross the thick river Ilfing, which flowed down from their mountains and separated them from the southern realm of Ásgarðr. Their Áss companions seemed friendly enough, yet rough looking. Most were tall and muscular, though not as tall as some of the men from Loki's homeland, with hair that grew from their faces in long, thick ropes. Some of the men, like Vili, had hair that reminded Loki of the color of rusted iron, whilst others had hair that looked like the sun. They were loud and boisterous and spoke in a strange tongue, but they seemed to have all the proper manners when dealing with a prince of a foreign realm.

Yet regardless, Loki could not shake the foreboding feeling that the itchiness of his skin had little to do with the sweat and the heat caused by the thick fur and the air closeted around him but something darker. His grandmother, Queen Nal of Jötunheimr, had often remarked that he had the Norns' gift of foresight running through his blood. He needed to listen to their whispers and secrets if he wanted to be a wise King one day.

Gerd laughed, which caused Loki to pout sullenly. He did not see what was so funny about the prospect of being eaten. Perhaps he should look for a new nursemaid, if his current one could find such amusement at the thought.

She reached up a pale hand to brush back the strands of his long, black hair that had come loose from their braid, "Oh my darling prince, you have no cause to worry. Their Queen has asked for you, that is true, but not to eat you. You are getting too old for such children's tales now, my darling. The Æsir are not like us, but they do not consume children and they do not dance around fires with blood rituals. Such nonsense! They are people, my prince, just that. And your father and mother do not seek to replace you."

"So is this to be a fostering?" Loki knew that many noble children were fostered in various duchies throughout the realm, his own cousin Eisa was being fostered in their palace right now. She was a year younger than him, so that must mean he was well past the age in which the process started.

Gerd smiled, but it seemed to Loki that the smile was a bit sad. It was like the smile mother gave him when she thought he could not see her, or the ones that the servants and cooks tried to hide whenever he was around. It was the smile that was etched into the lines of his father's face. He clutched his stuffed wolf, Fenrir, close to him.

"Of a sorts my prince."

* * *

Thor tugged at his mother's skirt, trying to signal her attention that he would like to be picked up from the ground. He was done inspecting the fluffy looking bug that had been slithering along the cobblestone and he had been standing here for forever. Freya always picked him up right away whenever he tugged on her skirts!

He pouted as the Queen continued to ignore him. They had been out here all day and mother and father hadn't moved. They looked like those silly statues that were outside the doors of his bedroom – the one's modelled after his grandmother and grandfather. Freya had told him that they were waiting out here for his new friend to arrive. He was supposed to be a prince like Thor so the boy didn't need to careful about what he did around him. She said he didn't have to worry about taking advantage of his higher station around the new boy like Thor always had to around Fandral, the son of one of the nobles, or Hogun, his father's ward from Álfheimr.

His new friend better get here soon – Thor's legs were sore and tired. He was really taking his sweet time.

"Thor, stop fidgeting," his father said from where he was standing next to his mother, straight-backed and stern. His father was a warrior king, the lines and scars on his face proved it, along with the patch that covered his missing eye, taken in a great battle. Thor wanted to be everything his father was when he grew up. He took his hand away from his mother's skirt, trying to look stern. Freya giggled from where she was standing behind him.

"It shouldn't be long now," she whispered to him, trailing her hand through his hair. The sun was just starting to set, causing the sky to light up in hues of gold and red, Thor's favorite colors. Everything about the royal palace was gold – the walls, the throne, the glimmering towers and steeples. Thor truly believed there was no richer or more beautiful realm anywhere – even beyond the sea.

Freya had told him tales about her home, Vanaheimr, a place of lush green forests and sprawling hills as far as the eye could see. Their homes were built out of the trees, made of smooth wood, steps of white oak carved from their tall, thick trees, leading up to their palaces on the tops of their hills. She was sad whenever she mentioned her home so Thor would offer her Mjolnir, his stuffed toy that was shaped like the ceremonial hammer his grandfather Bor had brought back from the dwarven realm. Cuddling it always made him feel better – but he was only four.

_ "One day I shall go with you there Freya! Then you will not have to be sad," _Thor would tell her as she cuddled him and Mjolnir in her lap before placing them in the cradle that was his bed.

_ "One day you will go there my warrior, I do not doubt that,"_ she would say, kissing him on the forehead and tucking Mjolnir in with him during those nights when their bedtime stories were the tales of her homeland. Those tales were happening less and less as he grew. He was almost big enough now to sleep in a real bed! Did that make him too big for bedtime stories?

Thor bounced on the balls of his feet as the sound of hooves hitting paved stone reached his ears. They were almost here!

"Thor," his father hissed. He stilled – look manly.

* * *

The first thing that struck Loki about the royal palace of Ásgarðr was that there was too much gold. It made his eyes hurt and caused him to squint as he looked upon it, the gold glaring at him from the light of the fading sun. The second thing that struck him was that it was too tall. Even the royal palace in his homeland was only half the height of this one – did they need to house all their nobles in this one? How would he ever find his way around so vast a palace?

He stumbled on the last step as he emerged from the carriage, causing him to frown. How undignified! Gerd took a hold of his hand, leading him on to follow Vili towards the crowd of people that were gathered in front of the palace. Loki could feel the itchiness of his skin flare up with a renewed vigor and he wanted to whimper. This was not home. This was not his palace with its glass walls and beautiful snow banks. His mother and father were not here – his brothers, his friends. He was alone. He had even left Fenrir back in the carriage!

Vili bowed in front of a man with one eye, dressed in leather and armor, complete with a sword at his side. Loki gasped – Gerd had been wrong! Their King looked fierce and harsh and stared at him like cook usually stared at a particularly puzzling fish that had been placed in front of her. Was Loki supposed to bow as well? He was use to people bowing to him and mother and father – and they weren't even a King or a Queen.

The Queen, a beautiful looking woman with hair that was like the sun braided behind her back smiled at him. There was a young boy bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of her, slightly smaller than Loki with short, blonde hair. Another tall, beautiful woman with hair the color of rust stood next to the Queen.

"Your Majesties, may I present to you Prince Loki of Jötunheimr," Vili said, sweeping his hand over to where Loki stood. He bowed quickly, almost falling over from the sudden action he had forced his body to make. He could see the little boy's eyes widen as he managed to catch himself before he hit the pavement. An older boy, somewhere near ten or twelve, who was standing on the left side of the King, smirked.

The King inclined his head, the little boy repeating Loki's clumsy bow, while all the women gathered in the crowd curtsied and the men performed more suitable ablations. Loki frowned, should he have waited to bow? He had not yet been introduced to the King or the Queen but everyone always bowed to grandmother once immediately in her presence.

"Prince Loki," the King said in a voice that reminded Loki of one of the giant bears that made their homes in caves near the bottom of the mountains, "welcome to Ásgarðr."

He felt Gerd squeeze his hand a little in reassurance, "Thank you, your Majesty. It is an honor to be here." Was his voice trembling? His skin prickled as the King's one blue eye fixed itself on his face. Loki looked away, at the Queen. She was slightly less terrifying.

He was very conscious of his furs and pale skin and black hair surrounded by all these golden skinned, blonde haired beings. He felt out of place - like the runt of a litter of big strong pups.

Vili turned to Loki, "Prince Loki, Lady Gerd, I introduce The Allfather, King Odin of Ásgarðr. Her Royal Majesty, the Allmother, Queen Frigga, and his Royal Highness Prince Thor." Gerd curtsied to the small family, and Loki mimicked her actions. He had bowed too soon! That was why that boy had been smirking at him.

"Freya says you're to be my new friend," the little boy suddenly said in a voice high and excited. Loki's eyes widened. Some of the women in the gathering fought to stifle their laughter.

"I'm sorry," he replied, looking at the small boy. Was he being brought here to be nursemaid to a child? That was no role for a prince! Especially when he was still in need of nursing himself, loath as he was to admit it.

Queen Frigga smiled at her son, "Let the prince settle in first. He has just come from a long journey. He is from the mountain lands north of us."

Thor's eyes grew as large as diamonds, "The frost giant lands?"

Loki blinked. Frost giants? There were no giants made out of snow in his homeland.

"Mama, Loki doesn't look like a giant! Tyr said they were blue!"

Loki could feel himself bristling. He was most certainly not blue and of course he was no giant! He was actually quite small for his age. Who was this Tyr? He would feel Loki give him a piece of his mind! And his foot.

He scowled at the little boy. What punishment were the ancestors inflicting on him to be saddled with this child?

King Odin shot the older, red-haired boy next to him a stern glance, "The Jötnar are not blue Thor. You should not listen to everything Tyr tells you."

"You both must be hungry and tired from such a long journey. Come, rooms have been prepared for you as well as some supper. It is late, we shall talk in the morning Prince Loki," the King said, motioning for the gathered crowd to start back to the palace. "You're guard shall be given suitable accommodations as well."

Loki bit his lip, looking up at Gerd. She gave him a reassuring smile. He felt Thor's small hand slip into his free one, the slightly smaller boy beaming up at him. Was there no end to this child's enthusiasm?

"I can show you too your room! Freya said it's the one right next to mine! They've been preparing it for weeks," he told him, talking so fast that Loki could barely make out the words. The small boy with a strength uncommon in one his age started to pull Loki along the cobblestone path towards the golden palace. The streets was awkward under his feet, the stones pushed up and dipped oddly. He stumbled, dragging along Gerd behind him whose hand he had not let go of with the one not occupied with Thor.

Freya was apparently the tall, beautiful woman with the rust colored hair. She reached out to slow Thor's pace to keep him from knocking Loki onto his face. The boy slowed down so that they were a few paces behind the larger strides of most of the adults.

Loki smiled at her gratefully, "Thank you, my lady."

"Thor gets a bit overenthusiastic at times Prince Loki," she said, "He can be a bit like a storm-wind." The little boy seemed to puff up with pride at her words.

"He is very…energetic," Loki replied, eyeing the child. Thor continued to smile at him. He could feel his stomach tighten as they got closer to the large, gold door of the palace. His breath was coming in fast bursts, the near-running had been no help. The door seemed to loom over him like a wall of fire. He sniffled and tried to wrench his hand away from Thor. He wanted to go home! He didn't know where he was, who was around him. It was too alien.

The little boy's arms wrapped around him, holding him close like Helblindi sometimes did when his little brother was scared and needed comforting. But this time it was Loki who was in need.

"I shall give you Mjolnir for the night Loki. It always makes me feel better," the boy told him, voice muffled from where it was pressed into Loki's furs.

"Especially during the earthquakes," he whispered as if it was some great secret that Loki was privileged to be told.

Loki's lips trembled, "What is Mjolnir?"

"You'll see!" Loki was given no more time to contemplate the palace doors as Thor once again started to drag him towards his new rooms.

* * *

**Year 929**

Despite the cold air of Jötunheimr striking its frost within his very bones, Thor could feel sweat pooling down his face as he worked himself into a calming state, hitting the bag filled with sand that his warrior's had hung up from the rafters of his tent. His face was red, his breath came out in pants, and he could feel a tingling buzz like lightning forming over his nerves. Loki was looking down at them again. Thor could not see from where the prince was gazing upon them, not from the encampment, but he could feel it. As he always could whenever Loki was nearby and his thoughts had turned towards Thor.

Thor had no touch of seiðr, nothing like Loki, but since the first time he had laid eyes on The Jötnar prince as a child it was like a thread from the Norn's own weaving had bound the two boys together. He attacked the bag harder, imagining the devastation of Loki's beloved home that would soon happen if Loki did not come to meet with him soon. His soldiers were getting restless. They were warriors, raiders, pillagers. They were not trained to sit and starve out nobles, waiting for peaceful entry. They sharpened their swords, their axes – they wanted to smell blood in the air.

The bag crashed, breaking free from the rafters as Thor punched with all his strength, almost falling straight through the wood that made up the floor of his tent, to keep his boots from the snow.

Tyr chuckled sardonically from behind him, "What is that now your highness? The third one just tonight?"

"This week," he grumbled, shooting his baseborn older brother a glare. The damn redheaded fool smirked at him.

"If only you could focus some of that anger on the viper hiding up there," Tyr mused, "we'd have stopped freezing our arses off weeks ago!"

Thor growled at him, "Loki will come. I know it." Sooner or later he always did. Loki could never resist the call to come to him, not even when they were children and Thor would drag his childhood friend away from the books in the libraries of the palace along to the training yards, to adventure outside the palace grounds, or to hunt.

"So you've said, but will it be peace he brings with him – or a knife in the back?"

The fireplace set a glare around the broken punching bag as Thor frowned, rubbing the tattoo on his arm. The feathers and horns tied together; brothers-in-arms.

What would Loki bring with him this time indeed?


	3. Chapter 3

**Year 909**

The winters in Ásgarðr never got particularly cold. It was quite surprising really, given that the realm was only a few miles south of the river Ifing that bordered the realm of Jötunheimr. The altitudes high up in their mountains caused the weather to have a chill for most months out of the year and fine dustings of snow on the ground were not uncommon to the eye. Loki had seen very few snowfalls in the years that he had spent as a guest in the halls of Odin and now that they were traveling further south into the realm, heading towards the Bifrost for the past three weeks, the sight of snow was becoming even rarer.

The furs that Loki had packed when journeying to Ásgarðr had mostly stayed unused and packed in the trunks that they had arrived in. He had been given a whole new set of Æsir style clothing that Queen Frigga had provided him with shortly after his arrival – mostly an array of green and silver leather clothing. They were tight fitting, more than the prince had been used too, but were now almost becoming a second skin. He had gotten use to the sweat that would pour down his face when running around the training yard with Thor and his friends Fandral and Hogun because of the summer heat. He had grown use to the slight tan that his skin had gained from the sun that beat down on them. He had grown use to the smell of the grass and the dirt, the smell of cooked game coming from the kitchens, and he had grown use to the looks that the nobles would give him and Thor as they ran around the halls creating mischief.

Loki had grown fond of Thor, that bumbling, posturing, loud little prince that had scarcely left his side since he'd come here. Slowly, unknowingly, the blonde little fool had worked himself into Loki's heart. With him, and Freya, and his own beloved nurse Gerd, Loki scarcely noticed sometimes the looks that the nobles gave him; effeminate, clever, magic-loving little foreign born child that their crown-prince looked up too. They feared that Loki and his 'barbaric' ways would taint their young, golden prince.

Loki however had not grown use to the hole that could not be filled by Thor and Freya and the Queen. The hole that had formed from the absence of his family, his people, his culture, his lands. Though he had been in Ásgarðr for some time now Loki could never wrap his head around the scorn their people placed on those of intellect rather than physical strength, their lack of respect they gave to their women, or their derision at those that were less able than them. He missed his homeland's rituals, dancing in the moonlight and honoring their ancestors to give them blessings throughout the coming year. The Æsir loved their loud parties, full of bawdy tales and drinking, where men acted like fools and women gossiped like hags. He disliked the long, lingering glances that Gerd's fair and unique looks in these lands caused to be cast her way by the rough, uncouth jarls and warriors of King Odin's court.

And there was nothing Loki hated more than looking in the mirror with the knowledge that he was seeing the face of King Odin's first wife staring back at him.

**Year 908**

It was truly amazing that Loki had remained ignorant of the motive behind his fostering at this court for nigh on two years of being housed here. It seemed almost amusing that he learned the reasoning behind it not from King Odin, nor Queen Frigga, nor even Gerd – but a blonde haired little girl that had taken to following him and Thor around the palace ever since she had been brought by her mother and father to the court a few weeks before.

"Do the frost giants have women warriors Loki," Sif, the daughter of a general in King Odin's army inquired after Loki had gotten out of his lesson on seiðr being taught to him in secret by Thor's elven nursemaid Freya. In Ásgarðr the thought of a man, even a boy, practicing the art was scorned and so Loki was not allowed to join the meager amount of young girl students in the local school for it within the city. That did not mean that he did not learn – no he perhaps learned more at the hands of the skilled elven woman than those young girls would ever hope to achieve. He could not comprehend why the skill, which took persistence and strength – of mind and spirit – would be so scorned by the warriors here but he supposed it was just another one of their strange customs.

Every day he was forced to accompany Thor to the training guards so that he could learn what the golden people of this land deemed a man's skill – he was no slouch but he failed to live up to the younger, and still smaller, Prince Thor. He had indeed been blessed with every warrior's gift passed down from his forefathers and had earned great praise from their trainers.

"Why would they have women warriors? That's hilarious," Thor said, laughing. Sif shot him a poisonous glare as they walked towards the training grounds. Loki was not blind to the longing Sif shot them every time they left her company for the training grounds. It was not for their company but to join them. But the Æsir, despite their worship of the Valkyries of Valhalla, did not extend any respect to the idea of a shield woman like the elves and the tales of various Midgardian women Loki had heard of.

"We have many women who are fine huntresses, skilled with bows and arrows but we are not a warlike people. We have not been since the last great war of our people hundreds of years ago," Loki told her, shooting Thor a look to silence his laughing. The young boy rolled his eyes but his chuckling began to taper off.

"Oh," she answered, frowning sullenly. It was indeed a shame the spirited little girl had been born here and not in Freya's native land where her dreams would have been molded and shaped to fit their needs.

"What about your mother than," she asked him inquisitively. Loki blinked in confusion. His mother? Faubauti was not known for any great skill with the bow and he had never seen her pick up a throwing knife even to perform in the games their people sometimes partook in.

Loki stopped causing Thor and Sif to come to a halt beside him.

"My mother is not known for any kind of skill beyond her love of learning and her political charm. Grandmother Nal says that she will make a fine Queen someday."

Sif chewed her lip with a look of one who had been found guilty of their hand within a biscuit jar.

"I wasn't talking about your stepmother. I was talking about your mother," she whispered. Thor's eyes grew wide. Loki was startled.

"What could you possibly know about her," he exclaimed. He was startled by the feeling of annoyance that had suddenly overtaken him at the thought of his birth mother, his stepmother's elder sister who he could scarcely recall. She had been meant to take the crown after his Grandmother Nal but had run off, leaving it to be given to her younger sister. A girl who had been ill-equipped for her sudden role for she had meant to take vows into their High Coven.

"My father said that King Odin met her on the road while she chased off some attackers with her sword. He said that it caused King Odin to fall in love with her at first sight. So he brought her back here and they got married! Until she died of course," she told him. It was said in such a matter of fact tone it was as if she believed that this was common knowledge, that Loki would have known this. He felt lost, adrift; almost like the floor was rising up to meet him.

He came to in his chambers, the silk blankets that covered his bed wrapped around him and Gerd's hand stroking through his hair. He groaned, which signaled to her that he was awake.

"Do not rise to fast my prince, your fall will have caused quite a headache," she warned him.

Her words held little sway over his actions as Sif's words rushed back to him with a vengeance. He forced himself up so that he could look at Gerd, ignoring the pounding within his head.

"Is it true," he screeched, wincing a bit at his tone but not regretting it. He had been lied too! Betrayed! No one, not even Gerd who was supposed to tell him everything and always the truth, had thought to reveal this to him.

"Is what true Loki," she said, closing her eyes. She did not envy Freya when she oft dealt with the young Prince Thor's tantrums for Loki had them so rarely – she wished her elven friend was hear now so that she could make use of her expertise.

"My mother was married to King Odin," he hissed.

Gerd could feel the blood draining from her face. Who had told him? Queen Nal had expressly forbidden any mention of the connection between their royal families when she had agreed to King Odin and Queen Frigga's request to foster Prince Loki in their home. Her agreement had been reluctant enough for Prince Loki was her favorite grandson and her most talented – the best equipped to follow her on the throne and she dreaded the thought of their customs rubbing off on her grandchild. But Queen Frigga's plea had been so heartfelt that even Queen Nal had conceded eventually, after a year of her attempts.

But she had known that the truth of Princess Jord's…Queen Jord's…abandonment would leave the boy heartbroken. His father Laufey had quickly moved on with Jord's younger sister Farbauti, who had never shown Loki any less love than she did her own trueborn children, but to know you had been left for a throne in another kingdom would not sit well with any young child. Princess Jord had spared no thought to her youngling when she agreed to marry King Odin and leave her home forever.

Loki closed his eyes, collapsing back onto the bed, "So it's true. My mother and King Odin were married."

He did not need Gerd to say yes.

**Year 909**

The litter carrying Queen Frigga and the rest of the women bounced roughly upon the stone built road that they were traveling on towards the Bifrost. Loki tightened his arms around Thor, the two young princes riding together on Loki's horse Sleipnir, behind King Odin and the rest of the men.

"Do you think it's wise to cause Queen Frigga to travel so far after the birth," he asked Tyr, Thor's illegitimate elder brother from long before King Odin had ever married. The redhead shot him a glare – he had never warmed to the Jötun, especially after his younger brother had started to spend all of his time with the strange little argr child.

"The Allfather knows what is best for all his subjects Prince Loki," he said stiffly. Queen Frigga was a strong women and she had been blessed with the birth of a healthy second prince for their royal line, who they had named Balder.

"She is not his subject, she is his wife," the dark haired prince said coldly. The enmity between them was mutually felt.

"I don't see why she didn't leave the baby at home though," Thor said frowning, "What if he catches a chill?"

"In this heat?"

"Well what if the elves decide to attack us? We are journeying there with only three-hundred warriors! They might betray our truce," Thor muttered sullenly, glaring at his brother. Tyr kicked at his own horse so that he could be nearer to the King and farther away from the young princes.

"Freya is with us Thor. Surely King Frey will not seek to break the truce whilst his sister is in our care," Loki told him, keeping his horse at a steady pace near the litter. He did not care for riding too close to the loud, smelly warriors with them.

"You'll help me protect him right Loki? If they do," Thor said, a determined look on his face. He did not even glance back at his riding companion as he said it – so sure in his conviction that Loki would always help him. Loki smiled.

"Of course Thor. No harm shall come too little Balder while we're here," he told him.

Thor grinned, slightly arrogant as he boasted, "Balder is lucky to be blessed with us as his older brothers!"


End file.
